


By The Storm-Torn Sea

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Community: dmficexchange, Draco Malfoy - character, Drama, F/M, Goodbyes, Pansy Parkinson - Character, PostWar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-24
Updated: 2010-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is two weeks before Draco's wedding, and Pansy knows she will lose him again. She says her goodbye in silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The Storm-Torn Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by the ballad "The Fisherman's Wife" as arranged and sung by The Minstrels of Mayhem. The request called for the seaside, storms, tears, and goodbyes, and that song instantly leapt to mind.

The innumerable pebbles on the beach were shades of white and cream, ranging from bone to ecru to snow. The surf hit the rocks and reared up in sprays of silver and steel. In the distance, under the glowering storm that threw bright, jagged spears across the clouds, the water glimmered black and midnight. The man who stood at the end of a weathered, grim outcrop carved from the rock was a man who combined all the colors of the sea into one tall frame, a man who stood as still and hard as the stone under his feet.

Pansy watched him as the storm rolled over the sea, watched him stand without a quaver even as the skies over him ripped open with the growl of thunder. A pregnant moon peeked through the clouds and disappeared behind them as though embarrassed to have spied upon the man on the outcrop. The storm moved closer, silver lightning turning the entire world into a flare too bright to view, a flash that left purple streaks dancing across Pansy's vision.

She walked onto the outcrop, the stone cold and coarse under her bare feet, tearing at her soles. She walked without notice, all her focus on the sea-colored man who watched the storm. His lonely vigil shredded her heart, left her soul in pieces, and she walked out to him. She stood beside him and raised her head to watch the sea, but she saw nothing in front of her. Everything she saw was behind her; everything she saw was their past. The bloody years of the war, the bloodstained stones of Hogwarts castle, the blood that had stained this man's skin red when it was spilled for another's cause.

Pansy laid her head against his arm, the flesh solid as granite beneath the black robes that moved and fluttered in the wind coming off the water. Draco didn't move, didn't even appear to notice her presence. She tipped her head back to look up at his profile, at his strong jaw, the shadow in his cheek. She turned and stood against him, her cheek pressed to his chest to listen to the slow, regular breathing, her hand over his heart to feel the slow, irregular beat. He'd made irrevocable decisions, and his heart had never recovered.

Neither had hers. She'd known, from the moment she stood up from her bench in the Great Hall, that she'd made a decision that would bring her loss. Loss of standing, loss of respect, loss of any trust or understanding, but she'd hoped those losses would be outweighed by the gain that felt most important to her. If the Dark Lord had been given Potter, as he wanted, as he craved, she'd thought that the young and frightened man she loved would be saved. So much was at risk, but if she could protect him, she thought - she _prayed_ \- it would be the best solution.

She stood, and she spoke.

He had been saved, in the end, but she had lost him despite her efforts. Her family's status was ruined through her actions, and his family's status was in flux. Narcissa Malfoy's famous lie protected her husband and son, guarded their bodies and their souls from the degradations of Azkaban, but more was needed to protect their future. They had made their discussions, their negotiations, and for the second time in his short life, Draco was sold to serve a purpose. The Greengrass family was impoverished, but respectable, their blood pure for five generations, their politics moderate. Daphne pitied Draco, witness to far too much of his life and actions the final year of the war, but Astoria was available, accommodating, willing to comply with the arrangements, to join her name and body to a man who had been willing to sacrifice his life for those he loved. The wedding was two weeks away.

Two weeks, and Pansy stood with Draco, her fingers curled into the thick fabric of his robes. She kept silent, kept still, listening to the ragged beat of his heart. They stood together, as the storm rushed across the sea, turning the distant waves into a dark froth. It could have taken years, as far as she knew, standing with him as the sea threw its silver spray at the cliffs and the clouds threw their blinding spears at the sky, but finally Draco sighed and slipped his arms around her, enveloped her in the shelter of his embrace. She closed her eyes as he bowed his head and pressed his warm lips to her hair. He took a deep breath, and she knew he intended to speak.

No, she decided.

No words would fit in this space. No words could account for their situation. Nothing could be said that hadn't been said a dozen times.

She lifted her head and sought his mouth, touched her lips to his. His breath caught, then eased, and under her hand his ragged heartbeat raced. Pansy kissed him, her lips parting against his, the tip of her tongue brushing his. She licked the salt of the sea from his mouth and kissed him until the blood roared in her ears as much as the surf crashed against the rocks at the base of the nearby cliffs. She kissed him until words were unnecessary, until they were unwelcome.

His strong hands slid up her back, cradling her shoulder blades, caressing the nape of her neck and the long column of her spine. His thin, elegant fingers kneaded into her muscles, working down from her shoulders to the slim flare of her hips. Pansy drew her tongue along the curve of Draco's bottom lip, then she kissed the corner of his mouth and drew back to meet his eyes, turned dark as the approaching storm with the slow build of his desire.

She took his hands and stepped back, away from the sea. He followed her in silence, both of them leaving damp footprints on the stones, let her lead him off the rocky outcrop and over the patchy grass into the small stone cottage tucked against the leeward side of a thicket of low and scrubby trees. The cottage had one large room, and Pansy tugged Draco to the back of it, to the low bed. She pulled back the soft duvet and turned to him. He had a look of wariness in his eyes, cautious anticipation tempering his want. It had been a long time, a very long time since they'd shared a bed and their bodies, and Pansy smiled. No matter how much time had passed and no matter what would come along in the future - or who - this would always be theirs. She would always be his. He had no need to worry.

She slid her hands up his chest to the fastenings of his robes and slowly unhooked them, slowly parted the black fabric to expose the hollows of his collarbones. She rose up on her toes and kissed his throat, pressed her lips to the pulse that fluttered blue under his skin. As she opened his robes, she followed the trail of pale skin with kisses down his chest, her heart feeling heavy as her lips traveled over his thin ribs. He'd lost so much weight during the war, and he felt as though his bones were as hollow as those of a bird.

She pushed his robes off his shoulders, exposed him fully to her gaze. Pale silvery-blond hair, pale grey eyes, pale white skin, pale pink nipples. The only thing about him that wasn't pale as the pebbles on the beach was the brand in his forearm. It had broken and faded with the passing of years since the Dark Lord's death, but it still stained his flesh as much as the storm clouds stained the horizon. Pansy encircled his wrist with gently trembling fingers, lifted his arm up to kiss the delicate skin at the crook of his elbow. She worked her way down his arm, kissed the curves and lines of the mark burned into his body. Once she'd covered every inch with her lips, she released him and held her arms out to her sides.

Draco made a soft noise and then his hands were on her, his fingers working down the bodice of her dress, pulling the thin satin ribbons loose, unlacing her from neck to waist. Beneath the fabric was nothing but her, and Draco smiled with triumph as he cradled her breasts in his palms. Pansy kept her eyes on his face, admiring the expression of intense concentration that crossed his features as he stroked her breasts. His hands had a power in them that she had always loved, a delicate strength, like finely-woven silk. He could grip her as firm as a broom or as gentle as a feather, and every touch stirred her blood.

He sat on the edge of the bed and drew her close to stand between his knees. Pansy stroked her hands through his hair and settled them on his shoulders. Draco kissed the insides of her wrists, then raised his head and licked his lips. She leaned forward, leaned into him, and Draco kissed her sternum. He smiled and made a soft sound of approval as she arched her back. He mouthed the inner curves of her breasts, moved from side to side, teasing her until she whimpered and dug her nails into his shoulders. He pushed her dress off her hips to puddle on the floor, then took her hands and pulled her onto the bed.

She stretched out beside him, her breasts swaying as she took a deep breath, as she inhaled his scent, the salt of the ocean, the tang of lightning in the storm. Draco propped up on his elbow and leaned over her. One leg slipped between hers, the fine golden hairs that dusted his thighs tickling her smooth skin. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her throat; he moved lower to kiss her collarbones, her ribs, her breasts. The point of his tongue brushed across her nipples, his fringe brushed over her chest. He paid lavish attention to her nipples, until each was damp and stiff, thrusting proudly at the ceiling.

Thunder rolled across the sky, rattled the stones of the cottage, and Pansy felt an answering rumble in her body. She took Draco's hand, placing it quite firmly on the triangle of curls, trimmed close with fastidious care, between her parted thighs. Against her hip, Draco's cock twitched, and it was Pansy's turn to smile with a private victory. She stretched in one languid motion, her arms reaching up over her head to put her body on display. Draco groaned and drew her nipple into his mouth, sucked it between his lips and laved it with the flat of his tongue, as he slipped his fingers into the damp folds of her cunt.

Draco knew her body as intimately as he knew his own, and he proved that with every touch. He stroked her to whimpering, her cunt slick and aching with emptiness, rubbed her clit and slid his fingers into her tight channel until she was keening in need. Pansy clutched at his hair, tugging at him, begging him to give her more, faster, _more_, as a knot in her belly coiled tighter and tighter. She felt like a bird, climbing higher into the sky, aiming for the clouds, full of a passion that sent her flying. At the top of the climb, she broke into a wild cry, an eagle's scream, and her body convulsed. She came, her voice filling the cottage, rolling across the stones louder than the thunder outside.

Draco's laugh was as dark as the storm, and he licked Pansy's juices from his fingers before leaning over her for a deep kiss. Pansy sucked her ocean-salt musk from his tongue and pulled at his shoulders. Soft pleading left her lips, whispers that stirred the tips of Draco's hair and made him shiver as her hot breath flowed past his ear. He pushed her knees apart and rose up to settle between her thighs. He balanced on his hands and looked down at her with a smile, his long fringe dangling in front of his eyes, his cock prodding at the curls on her mound.

She reached up to brush his fringe back, tucking a piece of it behind his ear, then dragged her fingers down his chest and stomach to wrap around his shaft. She stroked him with a loose grip, ran her thumb over the head to spread the thin, viscous fluid that had beaded up. Pansy bent her knees and placed her feet between Draco's calves, her legs wrapped around him, her thighs cradling his hips. She tugged at his cock, urging him closer, her cunt open with arousal. Draco let her guide him into her body, and she wrapped her hands around his waist as he pushed in. They shared a deep moan when he was fully sheathed.

Draco bowed his head, the muscles in his arms as solid as the rocks in the cliffs while he held tension locked in his frame. He took a shuddering breath and lowered to his elbows, his fingers clutching at the sheet. His back arched, his hips shifted, and he withdrew from her slowly. Before he could pull out of her body completely, he flexed and slid back in. Draco set up a rhythm as familiar to Pansy as her heartbeat and she watched his face as she moved in harmony.

No longer the overeager youth burdened with family worries and frantic, desperate fears, Draco took his time, treated this moment with reverence. Pansy clung to him as he claimed her body, as she gave it to him with each movement, every breath. When he dropped his head to her shoulder, she wrapped her legs tight around his hips; when he turned his face to her neck, she wrapped her arms around his back. He stiffened in her embrace, every muscle taut as he reached his release.

Pansy stroked his damp hair as he collapsed on her, his breath hot against her throat, and she smiled as he murmured. Only when with her, only like this, would he allow himself to be vulnerable, to be open, and she closed her eyes against the sting of tears as her name left his lips with love in each syllable. She rubbed his spine and cradled his head to her neck. This would always be hers. She would always be his, even as she lost him again.

This time she would not speak.


End file.
